


The last temptation

by queerly_it_is



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fingerfucking, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, bottom!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:11:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/909849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerly_it_is/pseuds/queerly_it_is
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek always gets stuck between making too much noise or just gasping silently.</p><p>He knows he’d been making noise earlier; when Stiles walked them both into the bedroom he’d been humming into kisses and mumbling dry responses to Stiles saying he “had plans”; when Stiles tugged at his clothes he remembers he’d said something meant to pass for controlled about patience that had made Stiles roll his eyes.</p><p>And when Stiles pulled his mouth off Derek’s dick with a slurp so lewd it had to be at least half on purpose and told him to roll over with his voice gone rough, Derek’s sure he’d breathed out, “Yeah. Yeah okay.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The last temptation

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently this is what happens when people throw kinks at me on twitter. Re: the breeding kink tag above, there is no actual breeding or mpreg in this fic, Derek just really likes the idea of it.

Derek always gets stuck between making too much noise or just gasping silently.

He knows he’d been making noise earlier; when Stiles walked them both into the bedroom he’d been humming into kisses and mumbling dry responses to Stiles saying he “had plans”; when Stiles tugged at his clothes he remembers he’d said something meant to pass for controlled about patience that had made Stiles roll his eyes.

And when Stiles pulled his mouth off Derek’s dick with a slurp so lewd it had to be at least half on purpose and told him to roll over with his voice gone rough, Derek’s sure he’d breathed out, “Yeah. Yeah okay.”

But with Stiles’ sticky-slippery hand on his hip and two of his fingers working into his ass, Derek suddenly can’t make his voice work.

It might be for the best.

He manages a hiss when Stiles’ long fingers slip in to the last knuckle and _twist_ , spreading him wider. He’s got his knees so far apart his thighs are burning like an echo to the stretch of his insides, back bowed down and head twisting into the pillowcase. There’s sweat itching at his skin as it falls to the sheets, and it doesn’t matter that Stiles blew him less than ten minutes ago, he’s already hard again, pulse thudding between his legs and precome trailing from his slit.

Stiles hums, leans in and kiss-bites across the top of his ass to the small of his back, teeth and tongue in the dimples either side of Derek’s back. His fingers slide out slowly to the pads, the too-empty feeling dragging a choked breath through Derek’s windpipe, lips smearing it against the pillow. He wants to buck back, fuck himself on Stiles’ hand, but he’s balanced too poorly and shaking too hard, and this is apparently Stiles’ show today, and just thinking that gets a twitch from his cock and more sweat prickling between his shoulders.

It’s definitely for the best that he can’t talk. He’d never have been able to string enough letters together to make, “I like it when you take over; when you let me give in,” anyway.

“Thought about this all day,” Stiles whispers, and Derek can _feel_ the air, the words brushing down the lube-wet mess of his skin, over his hole. Gooseflesh scrambles up the valley of his spine, digs into his nape. “Couldn’t get anything done ‘cause I was thinking about what you’d look like,” his fingers turn and wriggle back into Derek, and Derek mouths helpless at the spit-damp fabric clinging to his lips. “About how many times I could get you off with something in your ass. God, your fucking _ass_ , Derek.” Another finger, slimy and a little cold, and Derek’s ragged inhale sticks on its way into his lungs.

More breath runs over him, cool between his cheeks and over the spread of Stiles’ hand. Then he’s jolting forward and shuddering when Stiles’ tongue slides down from the small of his back to his held-open hole.

Stiles’ lips work around his own fingers, all three pressed deep into Derek’s ass and spreading wider, the stretch driving heat through his hips and into his dick.

He clenches his eyes shut when Stiles’ tongue slides in between his fingers, slips around them, pulls out to lap over his hole in counterpoint to the rocking of his hand. Blood rushes thick and loud in Derek’s ears, and over it he can _hear_ the messy sounds Stiles is making, gasps when Stiles runs his tongue down tight skin to Derek’s balls and pulls one into his mouth, sucks as he moans, sudden warmth spreading up the length of his cock.

Stiles’ mouth is brand-hot, lips swollen from sucking Derek earlier, scorching even with the flush all over Derek’s skin. He tilts his hips back as much as he can, rolls his body feebly into Stiles’ mouth and deeper onto his fingers.

Derek’s hands twitch and grip the sheets rougher when Stiles pulls away from his balls with a slick-wet _pop_ and his tongue retraces its way back up, bumping the swells of his knuckles and around each digit.

“You’re so open,” he murmurs, low enough Derek wouldn’t have caught it if he’d been human. Then louder, “So _wet_ , god,” followed by a deep shove of his tongue that curls up and makes Derek’s spine lock and melt at once while his eyes roll back toward the ceiling.

The hand he’s not using to fuck Derek open slides over his hip and around to his belly, works between his body and his dick with a gentle brush over the head that’s like an electric charge, more precome spilling out of him onto the sheets. Derek shakes, pinned between that feather touch and the deep press of Stiles’ fingerprints right into the spot inside him that greys out his vision when he grips down on them.

“You need another one?” Stiles asks, and Derek groans when the tip of a fourth finger skirts around the edge of him, hint of muscle straining to take it.

More than anything, Derek wants to say no; wants to say he was ready for Stiles’ dick before they got to three fingers much less two, probably even before that. Wants to cough out admissions about just how much he needs it and how good he’d be if Stiles would just hurry up and fuck him.

He forces his head to turn in profile, cheek mashed down into the pillow. There’s a tremble rolling down his thighs, and every ragged breath makes him more and more aware of Stiles’ hand planted low on his stomach, fingers splayed out and the back of his hand nudging the head of Derek’s cock. He feels like Stiles is everywhere, pressing from outside and pushing from inside, like he’s being kneaded down to nothing.

“Please,” he manages, and it digs into his throat on its way out.

Stiles’ fingers twist, bend, and that fourth one pries him open just barely. “Please what, Derek?” he says, slow and teasing.

_Please fuck me. Please touch me. Please don’t make me decide._

“Stiles,” is what comes out, snapped in half and drowning in the gust of breath he can’t control, “please, just—”

“Okay,” Stiles shushes him, the hand on his belly rubbing up to over Derek’s chattering heart and back down again. “Okay,” again, softer. “You’re gonna come like this, and then I’m gonna fuck you.”

Derek makes a grateful noise, for more reasons than will fit inside his head along with the clamour of _pleasepleaseplease_.

Stiles’ hand turns against his stomach, nudges at Derek’s dick, and then his fingers are on him, wrapping tight even if the angle’s awkward, and he starts jerking Derek off while his fingers thrust in and pull out faster.

Another sound, low and grating that Derek spits into the pillow, hands catching and spasming before he just gives in and shoves them between the pillows on either side of his face. His whole body’s twitching and lighting up with it, Stiles working him over with three fingers and that hint of a fourth while he rolls his wrist and squeezes under the head of his cock, one finger crooked enough to catch on the slit every time, spreading the slick.

Derek’s heart is clashing behind his ribs and his stomach’s cramping, weight on the overwide spread of his knees and the rocking balls of his feet. He’s close and Stiles’ knows it, spreading his fingers out before he works them back in, finding his prostate and rubbing over it hard, and when Derek comes it takes his breath from him, neck seizing and driving his head down between his shoulders, sweat running from his temples as he pulses, pulses onto the bed beneath him.

He can feel himself clenching and fluttering around Stiles’ hand, dick jerking and snapping taut to his stomach in the other. There’s white noise in his head and nothing in his lungs, eyes shut so tight purple-green fizzes behind them.

When Derek’s done coming and Stiles pulls his fingers free, Derek bites at his tongue and tastes copper to keep the sound in, just wants Stiles’ dick and isn’t willing to err and make him change his mind like that’s a real possibility.

“Condom?” Stiles asks, and it’s a real question this time, so Derek rallies his liquid muscles enough to shake his head strong enough for Stiles to see. They probably should; it’s easier on the cleanup if nothing else. But that’s exactly why he doesn’t want it.

There’s a _click_ of the lube bottle from wherever Stiles had dropped it, and he lets go of Derek’s softening cock to slick himself up. Derek leans onto his elbows and slides his knees back, the added spread letting cool air onto where he’s soaked and open, probably all pink-red swollen by now, same as the flush of Stiles’ dick when he’ll put it there.

Stiles’ hand finds his hip again, thumb stroking like Derek’s about to startle, and he listens to the wet drag of Stiles’ other hand on his dick, the catch in his breathing and the uptick in his heartbeat.

Derek feels the head pressing at his hole, swollen-heavy and wet, then there’s the ache of his body parting for it, giving to the weight of Stiles’ thrust in the force of his hips.

He swallows dry and holds himself still while Stiles pushes deeper, grits his teeth against the burn of his hole stretching.

Stiles hisses through his teeth, making slow, rolling shoves Derek cants himself into. The head glances over Derek’s prostate enough to make his cock swell a little, the delicate skin tight and sore but still good in a heavy-in-his-gut sort of way.

“Yeah,” Stiles mutters as his hips meet Derek’s ass, wiry hairs against the skin of his cheeks, Derek busy hauling unsteady breaths through his nose and his whole world tunnelled down to the hot-alive- _perfect_ weight of Stiles’ dick in him, spearing him, his hands firm on the curves of Derek’s hipbones.

His mind catches on the knowledge – the _feeling_ – of Stiles being in him bare, nothing between them but a coat of lube and thin skin, blood so close to being pushed together, and his cock fills a little more, stubborn and eager, _greedy_.

Stiles moves. The thick length of him rubs over that same spot in Derek until his throat sticks on a swallow, almost choking on his tongue. Stiles pulls out until Derek’s being kept open by just the fat head, the deeper emptiness already bothering him, restlessness burrowing down his spine.

“I got you,” Stiles murmurs, probably an answer to whatever nonsense Derek hadn’t realised he was spouting. Then, “Yeah that’s it,” as he thrusts in again on a long, smooth shove that aches in Derek’s hips and lower back, turning his legs to jelly and knocking a groan free of his chest.

The pace builds slow and inescapable, constant ramp-ups of Stiles fucking him that keep Derek from adjusting, make him feel the stretch and the hungry clench of his hole as he tries to keep Stiles in. Obviously Stiles knows him too well. The gratitude curls sweet and acrid behind his tongue, clogs his airway on a sob.

He’s fully hard again now, his body acting like neither of his orgasms even happened, and _god_ , Stiles hasn’t gotten off at all yet, he’s going to lose it inside Derek and it’ll be _everywhere_ , leaking and trickling down his legs and over his balls, soaking him low in his belly.

The skin-on-skin noises clap in Derek’s ears, the sting of Stiles slapping into him rubbing his forehead deeper into the pillow. His hands grip and tug under him, and he rocks his weight back into the drive of Stiles’ thrusts.

Derek shivers when Stiles holds him tight by the muscle above his hips, pulls his ass a few inches higher and pounds into him harder, faster, leaves Derek shaking from the waist upward, sweating and stuffed full.

Stiles reaches around with one hand for Derek’s dick again, hard and leaking thin blurts of precome, so oversensitive it hurts but makes him drip more anyway.

“So good,” Stiles pants out, breathing and grunting around the solid shove-grind moves of his body. “Still tight. You gonna come again? Make a mess?”

It sounds like a taunt, twists a sharp-hot barb around Derek’s gut, molten in his spine.

He loses it when Stiles snaps his hips forward hard with a tight swivel that scrapes his cock over Derek’s prostate. He whimpers, almost gagging on it, and twitches weakly in Stiles’ grip, orgasm rocketing up and down his body.

“Christ, Derek,” Stiles groans, soft and almost _awed_ , and Derek’s too loosely aware and fucked apart to blush, but something roils in his chest anyway. He moans when Stiles’ fingers brush the head of his dick, rolling and tucking around his foreskin, stomach muscles contracting with wrung-out aftershocks.

Stiles leans over and onto him, sweaty chest to sweaty back, and lays sloppy kisses down the nape of Derek’s neck to the spirals of his tattoo.

“Knew you could do it,” he says, breath scattering down Derek’s neck on either side, flowing against his jaw. “So good for me.” He lets go of Derek’s dick, and Derek slumps a little more into the mattress.

Stiles rolls his hips, making Derek gasp again. Just like Stiles to find this kind of control just to push Derek over the edge again and again. He hums and rides a slow push back into Derek’s ass. “Almost wish I could keep you like this, full all the time.” His teeth run over the side of Derek’s neck, breathing hard and fast, shivers spreading outwards. “S’just a shame I can’t knock you up, huh?”

Derek jerks, can’t stop it, body locking up so hard it turns to movement. Stiles lets out a shaky moan when it triggers a seize of Derek’s ass around his cock.

“S-Stiles,” he swallows, “I—I don’t—I can’t—”

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, shushing him, hand rubbing up to Derek’s chest again. “I know you’re—,” he sighs. “I figured it out, okay?”

Derek’s not—he just—when did he—

“Hey,” Stiles is suddenly saying, hand pressing and rubbing harder. “Breathe, Derek, you gotta breathe.”

Derek crams air into his lungs, grinds his teeth to feel it whistling between them. He pushes his forehead into the pillow, keeps breathing and focuses on Stiles’ hand and the unrelenting low burn of arousal where he’s still full of Stiles’ dick.

He unlocks slowly, from neck to shoulders to waist to legs, toes curling in the sheets while the mortification – the utter _inside-out_ feeling goes away, drops back to a tinge of embarrassment. He can’t _believe_ he let this happen.

Stiles huffs a gentle breath into the space between Derek’s hunched shoulders, then rubs the softness of his mouth up along the bumps of Derek’s spine to the prickle of his hairline.

“Back with me now?” he asks, painfully soft and understanding.

“I wasn’t—I never told you,” Derek says, throat sticking, voice barely above a murmur.

Another huff, more amused this time. “If I needed you to tell me everything then we’d be in pretty big trouble.” He kisses the small hollow behind Derek’s ear, knees slotted into the folded backs of Derek’s. “I said it’s okay, and it is. Was I lying?”

“N-No,” Derek says, forcing his throat to let the word out whole and prising his tongue from his palate. “But, Stiles, just because I—you  don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to,” Stiles says, hand resting between Derek’s collarbones now, fingers warm and spread wide. God, Stiles’ hands. His cock’s flagged a little, Derek can feel the shallow space between his body and Stiles’, but he’s still buried inside, holding Derek open. It’s more comforting than it ought to be in ways Derek can’t face unpacking right now.

Stiles presses them a tiny amount closer leans up to kiss the back of Derek’s head. It’s a stupidly simple gesture considering the effect it has.

“I _want to_ ,” Stiles says, breathing ruffling the hairs around his mouth. “You know how many times I’ve thought about it?” The tip of his nose pushes down through Derek’s hair to his ear, cool air as Stiles’ inhales, Derek’s dick twitching when his brain flags up that Stiles is _scenting him_. “I’m game if you are,” Stiles says, cushion-soft mouth parted around the shell of Derek’s ear.

Derek could – probably _should_ – say no. He knows he could and that Stiles would accept it just like that; that he’d never mention it again if that was what Derek wanted.

But what Derek wants has always been the problem hasn’t it?

So it’s, “Please,” that falls out from between his lips, heavy as lead in water. He lays his head as flat to the pillow as he can, bares his neck and leans his hips back into Stiles’.

As demonstrations go…

Stiles is quiet for a long second, hand gone still on Derek’s skin. Then he sighs out, “ _Fuck_ , Derek,” and even without the tone or the abrupt _slam_ of his heartbeat Derek can feel his dick swelling again, widening the stretch of his muscles. “Yeah, okay, we can—”

He leans up, off of Derek’s back, the chill of the air tingling down his body in the place of Stiles’ warmth. Stiles’ hands go for his hips again, and Derek levers himself onto all fours, hands sweaty where they’ve been tucked between the pillows.

“Yeah,” Stiles says again, and Derek licks at his dry mouth and swallows with his dry throat, arches his back into the slick pressure of Stiles pulling slowly out and then swaying in. “You’d be so beautiful, Derek. Beautiful all swollen with a kid. Horny all the time with your belly full up.”

Derek’s breath shakes itself loose, catches on his lips and the insides of his cheeks. His hands fist in the sheets until his fingers ache, and like the permission – the acceptance – opened up some floodgate he’s been keeping hidden in his head, Derek can’t stop _thinking about it_.

Stiles is fully hard again now, enthusiasm and a young body sprinting to catch back up with himself, and lube pulls out around his cock, gathers on Derek’s ass and then gets pushed back in, so much of it worked inside it’s like a parody of all the come Stiles still hasn’t given him.

The want of it’s sitting restless under his skin now, sharp-edged and clawing its way between the notches of Derek’s vertebrae. He fucks himself back on Stiles’ dick, uncoordinated, head stuck on a loop of how long Stiles has been holding off coming for him, how much he wants him to let go and drench Derek with it, leave him soaked and filthy.

Again the crude slap of Stiles’ hips into his ass builds up, a frantic edge in the skip of Stiles’ fingers on Derek’s hips and the small noises fleeing from his throat, heavy breaths and unsteady thrusts with the weight of his cock bare and prying Derek back open.

The bed rattles and knocks into the wall, and dimly there’s a buzz running through him that’s funnelling down to his dick, and the shock of motion each time they thud together slaps Derek’s half-hard cock into the twitching plane of his stomach.

“M’close,” Stiles grates out, like Derek couldn’t tell from the force he’s fucking Derek with or the way his heart’s hammering so quick it’s nearly a constant tone. “ _God_ you’re—wanna see you messed up,” he groans. His hands would leave bruises if Derek was human enough – almost wishes he was. Stiles grunts, “Fuck you full and—god, get you fucking _pregnant_.”

He grinds in hard, hips stuttering and hands dragging Derek into his body, and Derek whines when he feels Stiles swell and twitch, the warmth being unloaded inside him. He clamps his eyes shut and feebly tries to clinch down on Stiles’ cock.

Stiles’ hands fumble up to his shoulders, fingers hooking over and pulling Derek back the nonexistent distance, ass snug to Stiles’ hips and Stiles’ aftershocks ricocheting through Derek’s body. He’s still jerking, still _coming_ hot and thick and clinging. He ruts his hips, and Derek can feel where the drag of him’s gone smoother, come trapped up near the head and slicking down slowly.

Derek makes a raw, plaintive noise when Stiles’ hand makes that well-used slide around to Derek’s dick. He hadn’t even noticed getting hard beyond the halfway point, too focused on Stiles’ filling him up than his own cock rising taut to his stomach.

Stiles jerks him fast, almost rough especially with how hot-sore-used he is already, and the sound Derek makes is definitely a sob, eyes stinging sharply and moisture in his lashes that he blots onto the pillowcase.

“One more,” Stiles says, all breath. “One more time, Derek. I want you to—to come while I’m breeding you.”

Derek’s voice breaks on a yell, a meaningless cry like sandpaper in his throat, and he’s coming, knows he is from the languid heat crashing through him and the white bursts behind his eyes. But there’s nothing left for him to shoot, dick jumping in Stiles’ hand and each one cramping in his stomach, his chest, his thighs. It _hurts_ like a stabbing at his gut, more tears crinkling through his lashes and daubing the bed.

His breath takes whole minutes to reach his lungs, feeling cold in his chest, and he lets out a groan when Stiles’ dick slips out of him, a helpless noise he’s got no choice but to let out.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stiles breaths. “Look at you.” Derek’s still suffocating on air when Stiles’ fingers tap at his hole, turn and push and test the give of the muscle. It must look _obscene_ , Derek red and swollen and gaping, Stiles’ come white and sticky and lube or spit making clear-shiny trails down his thighs against the dark hair.

There’s no resistance when Stiles’ tucks a finger into him, pressing at his walls and sliding through his own come. Then a second with the barest stretch, and all Derek manages is a faint puff he knows Stiles can’t hear. The third finger feels like an echo of Stiles’ dick, and when Stiles crooks them and rolls pressure over his prostate Derek mewls and quakes against him.

Four fingers is another stretch, and then when Stiles’ thumb flirts with the edge of his hole, _needshameheatwant_ coils in the hollows between Derek’s ribs, body curling back on some instinct like it wants nothing more than to take Stiles’ whole hand, let him fill him up to the wrist with every long finger, sticky-white probably squeezing out around the fragile bones and stretch of tendons, more open and wrecked than he’s been his whole life.

Like he’d be if Stiles put a baby in him.

But Stiles brands another kiss to Derek’s back and slips his fingers free, the mess he’s made of Derek already tracking a cool itch down the backs of his thighs.

They collapse unevenly sideways, Stiles ending up spooned behind Derek, absently tossing a leg over Derek’s calf. They’re both pretty disgusting, not to mention the sopping ruin of the sheets, but Derek’s exhausted, fucked-out and sore and used, and he just wants to _sleep_ , knowing Stiles is right behind him and there’s one more thing about him Stiles didn’t stare in the face and balk at.

 “I’ll get you a plug next time,” Stiles says, casual as anything around the gape of a yawn he presses to the back of Derek’s neck. “Make it last longer.” Derek snorts and clenches his hand around Stiles’ briefly.

The last thing he’s aware of before his body clubs him into sleep is the impression of Stiles’ smile against his nape, and the creeping start of his own tugging at his lips.

Next time.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Kill the lights,_  
>  I'm afraid of nothing.  
> The church of your curves,  
> The ghost inside us,  
> The last temptation. 
> 
>  
> 
> \-- Matt Nathanson's 'Kill the Lights'


End file.
